


Namaste My Ass (Or That Time Harry Made Nick go to Bikram then Took Care of Him Afterward)

by SingleStrand



Series: The Hammy Files (or Many Ficlets about Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw) [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Ficlet, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingleStrand/pseuds/SingleStrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a place for me to place things that I write or want to write about Harry and Grimmy because I'm sick of always making Twitter ficlets/plots out of them and never doing anything with them.</p><p>This first one happens to be about bikram yoga and shower blow jobs and bedroom sex. If you don't know yoga, you really just need to google the camel pose (because HARRY doing that shit) and shavasana. Xox</p>
            </blockquote>





	Namaste My Ass (Or That Time Harry Made Nick go to Bikram then Took Care of Him Afterward)

It’s so hot, Nick thinks he might actually be melting.

“Need. Water,” he whispers and glances pathetically to his right, expecting Harry to be as likely to be dripping sweat off his nose in tree pose as Nick himself is. But ... oh. Harry had removed his shirt sometime during the session, and a light sheen of sweat across his chest and stomach makes him appear to be glowing. Harry looks Nick’s way and grins, not even out of breath. Fucking popstar.

Nick fakes a cramp in his leg to grab a drink from his water bottle and sneaks a look at the clock. Twelve more minutes. Fuck. He doesn’t know if his old man knees can take twelve more minutes of bikram. Why did he let Harry talk him into this again? Oh, he thought it would be sexy together time. Get them all flexible and bendy. Like foreplay. As he wipes his face with a towel, Nick snorts. Obviously, foreplay to nubile Harry Styles is quite different from his own idea of the word. Reluctantly, Nick rejoins the sequence and, not to be outdone, gives his body one final push.

As class draws to a close, he is literally counting the final seconds, already anticipating the cool wash of fresh air on his face as he exits the studio. But as soon as he jumps up and starts to roll his mat, he notices Harry has laid flat out on his back, eyes closed, breathing softly.

Nick glances around as others gather their things and leave the room, smugly noting that many are sweating more profusely than even he is. “Harry,” he whispers, nudging Harry’s foot with his car key. “It’s over, popstar.”

“Shh, m’doing a shavasana.” Harry remains still, effortlessly focused on his breath.

“Dammit, Harold. I’m hot,” Nick whines.

“Lie down, Nicholas,” Harry whispers as sternly as possible.

With a huff and much arranging of water, towel, keys, and phone, Nick finally lies down and closes his own eyes. Shavasana. Fucking lazy man’s yoga pose is what it is. Absolutely no reason to do shavasana in bikram anyway, if you ask him. The whole thing is torture, and then you’re supposed to lie down and act like you aren’t huffing and puffing, sore all over and dripping sweat. And what are you even meant to be _thinking_ about, just lying there, when you could be checking instagram or grabbing a drink at the pub next door.

As the seconds tick by and the studio quiets again, Nick’s mind wanders, settling momentarily on Harry’s body in camel pose - chest glistening, a trace of chub gathered where he’d had baby fat love handles when Nick had met him, cock tucked into his yellow shorts but bulging noticeably. Nick licks his lips involuntarily, opening one eye to peer at Harry’s prone form. Yep. Still shavasana-ing over there. Twat.

Wiping more sweat from his chin and neck, Nick tries not to notice his own stiffening cock, tries not to think about getting home to a lukewarm shower and cooling down with Harry’s lips on his body. Tries not to think about Harry going down on him, a finger or two in his arse as he sucks and licks Nick’s prick enthusiastically. Really, he tries. But before he realizes it, he’s being shaken out of a daydream, his own shavasana grown so obscene, so filthy, that he immediately jumps up and hides his erection with his sweat towel.

“Uh, yeah, you ready then?” Nick rolls up his mat, refusing to look Harry in the eye in case he had seen.

“Nick, you all right? You’re so flushed. The shavasana should have helped calm your body, cool you off.” Harry scratches his head, confused by Nick’s appearance and jerky actions with the mat.

“For Christ’s sake, Harold, it’s _hot_ yoga. Of course I’m flushed. Let’s go home, yeah? Be a good boy and bring the car.” Nick looks up from the floor, composure gathered, to hand Harry the keys with a smirk, knowing full well it’ll give him time to get things, ahem, under control if Harry goes to retrieve it, and knowing equally well that Harry hates to drive his Mercedes. Too small, he says.

“Fine,” Harry says, smirking back at him. “I’m sure your old man body couldn’t make it to the car where it’s parked anyway.” He turns and leaves the studio, Nick trailing behind, mocking him silently. He watches Harry run to the car and slide in, admiring how graceful he’s become now that he’s used to his long limbs and huge feet. It was endearing, really, when he was constantly tripping over things, but now he just looks ... sexy.

When Harry pulls around, Nick hastily jumps in the passenger seat so Harry will have to drive home.

“So thirsty,” he whines. 

“Drink your water,” Harry replies lazily, as if he’s still half in a yoga-trance.

“Already did. Still thirsty. Need a Coca-Cola is what.” Nick’s head is thrown back against the headrest, eyes closed as if dreaming about an ice cold beverage.

“Nick! You’ve just sweat out a ton of toxins and things. Don’t you feel good? Why would you want to ruin that with a fizzy drink?” Harry’s brow furrows, as if he’s actually ashamed of knowing Nick at the moment.

“Mmm, Coke. Need one. Please pull through the MacDonalds, Harry. Please? S’my car and I did go with you to that wretched class after all.” Grimmy puts on his best pouty face and casually grips Harry’s thigh, caressing it a few times for emphasis.

“You’re terrible. Absolutely the worst,” Harry says, as he turns left toward McDonalds anyway.

“You love me. You love me sooooo much, popstar, that you’re even gonna draw me a cool bath when we get home.”

“Am I? I suppose you want me to hold your Coke and guide the straw to your mouth while you’re sat in that bath as well.” Harry can’t stop the grin the spreads as he speaks, dimple appearing like always.

Nick gets his Coke, and they settle into a comfortable silence the rest of the way to the flat, Harry humming along to The 1975 while Nick tries to cool off. The Coke is good, but he can’t quite shake the filthy thoughts from earlier, and as they get out of the car and head into his flat, he finds his cock getting hard once again.

“I’m just gonna have a shower, yeah?” Grimmy throws his keys on the kitchen counter, setting his phone and Coke down without turning his body toward Harry.

“Could join you, if y’want.” Harry’s voice is muffled and low, and when Nick turns his head to see why, he realizes Harry’s already stripping out of his yoga kit, torso already bare and shorts being kicked to the side.

“Oh. Umm, of course,” Nick says, blinking slowly and turning down the hallway, carefully adjusting his dick and pulling his shirt off. “Get in here and start the water.”

Harry jogs past him, smacking Nick on the arse. “Yes, sir,” he shouts, saluting cheekily, and oh God, he’s naked and running down the hallway and fuck, if he isn’t completely perfect, and all Nick can think about is that Goddamn shavasana, with Harry on his knees in the shower, hair slicked back, and mouth red from sucking Nick off. Fuck.

Nick shucks off his shorts and pants and cracks his knuckles. Right. No reason for that to be a daydream anymore.

Harry’s got the water ready, barely tepid for the overheated bodies, and he steps in, leaving the glass door open for Nick to join him. The water cascades over Harry’s hair and down his back, little rivulets running over his bum and thighs. “Fuck, feels good.”

Nick slides in behind Harry, quietly closing the door and reaching up to trail a finger down Harry’s back. “Don’t hog all the water, babe,” he murmurs, moving in close and placing wet kisses across Harry’s shoulder blades.

“Sorry.” Harry pulls him in closer, snug against his back, the water running over both their bodies and causing Nick to shiver.

“S’nice.” Nick brings a hand around to Harry’s front, marveling at the sinewy muscle that was always hidden under a layer of soft pudge. It’s like his boy went away on tour and returned a man, in control of his limbs, suddenly into yoga and daily jogs rather than FIFA and beers. They’ve been intimate since he got back a few weeks ago, of course they have, but it’s been so urgent and heated, never much time to just feel each other up and make note of every little difference from before.

“Love you,” Harry whispers, leaning his head back onto Nick’s shoulder and covering Nick’s hand with his own, gently pushing it lower to show him how his body is responding.

“You too.” Hot kisses become more urgent across Harry’s shoulder and neck as Nick palms his cock gently, loving how the water rushing over it makes it so easy to slide the foreskin up and down, up and down. “Want you.”

“Mmm, want you too. Always.” Harry turns in Nick’s arms and presses a kiss to his lips, moaning at the touch and turning their bodies so Nick is more under the spray than Harry is now. “Wanna go down on you.” Falling to his knees, Harry wastes no time, pulling Nick’s dick toward his mouth and licking a long stripe from base to tip. “Fucking love this,” he says before taking Nick all the way to his throat, easily swallowing around him and falling into a lazy rhythm of making Nick slowly fuck his mouth, hands braced on each cheek of Grimmy’s arse for leverage.

“Jesus, Harry.” Nick plants one hand on the wall of the shower to steady himself but lets the other drift down to the back of Harry’s head, tugging gently on his curls. “Like that, yeah. Fuck.”

Harry’s whimpers echo in the shower, and he grips Nick’s bum harder, spreading the cheeks some and moving one finger closer to his hole. “Wanna touch you here,” he breathes, pulling off Nick’s cock for a few moments and looking up at him under long, wet eyelashes. “Get you ready for me.”

Harry bites his lip and slides a finger in to the first knuckle, wiggling it around just a bit, just enough that Nick thinks he may burst and he moans into a fist, head thrown back against the shower wall and water turning cooler and cooler. “Fuck, Harry, just, yeah,” he says, torn between pushing his cock toward Harry’s lips again or pushing his ass further onto Harry’s finger. “Thought about this during your bloody fucking shavasana. Fuck.” Nick can’t stop babbling as Harry takes him both further into his mouth and further onto his fingers, stretching and pulling at his opening a bit.

“Oh, believe me, I know you did.” Harry smirks up at Nick, and Nick puts on a mock scoff.

“I beg your pardon. You most certainly do not know what I did or didn’t think about during my personal time, Harry Styles.”

“Course I did.” Harry stands to his feet, hands still on Nick’s arse, and kisses him firmly. “I’ve got your number, Nicholas. I know you can’t lie still after watching me exercise for well past an hour without thinking about my mouth on you, hands on you, cock in you. Turn it off.” Harry is still working two fingers inside him, and Nick reaches behind him, fumbling unsteadily with the shower knobs until it’s finally just a cold drip.

“Dry us off, yeah,” Harry whispers against Nick’s neck and kicks at the shower door, his fingers sliding from inside Nick but his cock now nudging against Nick’s thigh.

“Yeah.” Nick pulls Harry with him out onto the bathroom tile, dripping a wet mess across the bathroom as he tries to towel them both off quickly, eager to get to the bedroom. “Want you to fuck me. Need you in me. Missed you so much, Harry.”

“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” Harry says and with that they both drift off, letting their actions speak louder than the words they normally fill silent spaces with, tugging and pulling each other onto the bed, silky sheets falling everywhere. Harry finds the duvet on the floor, giggling as he pulls it over his head and moves down Nick’s body to resume sucking on his prick in long, sloppy draws until he’s shuddering underneath him.

And Harry has to pull away because he doesn’t want him to, not yet, so he pulls Nick on top of him with one arm while reaching for the lube with the other and it only takes a moment before there’s a slick of wet on his cock and Nick’s above him, and oh. That’s what he was searching for, what he needs, what he’ll always want. Harry digs his fingers into Nick’s sides to slow himself down, while Nick cries out and arches his back as he takes Harry fully inside him, only opening his eyes to find Harry’s when he’s all the way there.

And then they move, together, like lovers that know every inch of every moment of every need that the other has. Slowly at first, then harder for a bit, nails scratching and teeth biting gently. And then when Harry is hitting _that_ spot, and Nick knows he can’t hold off any longer, he finally breaks the silence.

“M’gonna. Fuck, Harry. I love you.” Harry pulls Nick back down to him, kissing him roughly on the mouth and feeling his orgasm pulse in between their bodies. He pumps once, twice more, into Nick before his own release, moaning one long incoherent curse that Nick swallows through their kiss before collapsing lazily onto Harry and rolling to the side.

They’re both sweating again, and out of breath, but Harry’s hand finds Nick’s between their bodies, and they lie there, hands clasped loosely, regaining their breath together with eyes closed, a shavasana of a different kind.


End file.
